Hindu, Jew, African, American, Buddhist, Native American
Can you guess who said what?
"We are not different, that is African, that is...No, we are all brothers"
"You can have millions of styles all aiming at the same direction"
"We are flowers, in one garden."
"He gave us everybody"
"It's never said there is only one path, it's almost, any path which is based on compassion"
"As long as I know I love myself I'm okay."
Does it matter?
"You have to develop your own one-on-one relationship with the Mystery, with the Divine."
My father sends me an email about a writer that I should send something to. The writer is a spoken word artist, a fiery and impassioned sort. Her name is long, and seems to be of Polish origin. I send her a poem that I’m not sure I wrote, but I can read it in the vision of my dream, it looks like something I would have written, entitled, “Through Palestine” beginning like this:
And then on to describe some scene I must have witnessed or been privy to about Palestine and the militant infrastructure in place. It is a cry for social justice as many of my pieces about the Middle East. I receive a reply from this writer. The entire message is converted colors, opposite and it seems to have been written on the paint program, with letters and images sprawled out in a unique balance of chaos and harmony, all originally crafted by the archaic computer program. She writes long messages, including script-like poetics and communal dialectics amongst poets of our kind that she, with all heart and intention wishes to consummate through collaboration. She says, with my writing skills and her spoken voice skills, we can be a good duo.
I wake wondering if I should indeed embark on such a path towards collaborative efforts with poets who have experience, talent and motivation for spoken performance.
"a woman is dreaming
to hear the pledge
to the frozen smiles of wide-eyed crowded fields
that grow and decay
to the orbit of a lunar catastrophe
occurring every oceanic spawning,"
"that ephemeral beauty
we all know to arrive, one day
breathless and raised with red flames of miraculous fatigue
on the shores of the way"
- excerpt from, "Yes, don't fear"